#toy story cleric

[ericaportfolio]

Part 2 Progress of Ricky, Gordon, and the MFN gang that were tricked to come to this other abandoned studio in Hollywood to make an adventure movie that turns out to be the studio lots for the in-universe versions of The Dark Crystal and Labyrinth, The Shadow Sapphire and The Mystic Maze, that’s under the control of the Skeksis-like villains. This guy here is if you merge SkekSo from The Dark Crystal, and the Cleric from Toy Story That Time Forgot. Physical Drafting for the first panel is done so it can be done digitally!

[riddlesrose]

on the chest of another

w/ astarion

cw; none but maybe mild ooc astarion

hi yeah i haven't posted in 13 months my bad enjoy

He doesn't know the last time he felt truly comfortable with another living person, he’d been turned into a blood-thirsty vampire hundreds of years ago, he slowly learnt that the people he attempts to love will wither away while he stays put, same age, same face, though he can’t see it. Astarion watches the world change and reform around him while he retains memories of those he loved before they were either taken by the cold hands of death itself or he was forced to sacrifice them to his evil lord, Cazador. 

When he’d been taken, kidnapped, vampnapped off the streets of Baldur’s Gate, he’d never been so thankful, he was free, albeit trapped in a flying ship with aliens and other kidnapees, he was free from Cazador and the horrible treatment he’d endured for years upon years. He felt unrestricted until they threw him into a pod, then forcefully inserted an alien-type creature into his eye. He writhed in pain, attempting to free his arms, hands or legs to fight back, but it proved fruitless, he was stuck, and now, he had no idea what was going to happen to him. 

Astarion doesn’t know how long he’d been out, unconscious but before he could collect his thoughts, he realized that the flying ship he was, unfortunately, still on, was on fire, being actively attacked. 

After the ship had been knocked around a few times, set more on fire, he noticed a person, they were free, walking around like nothing was happening, or maybe looking for an exit, but they were definitely too far for anything to be heard had he banged on the front of his pod. That’s it, this is his end, he’ll probably just die when this ship inevitably crashes. Oh well, it’s a better outcome than being Cazador’s slave for the rest of his miserable life. 

Astarion stirred, feeling the sun warm his body, wait, the sun? He shot up, he should be turning to ash, he lifted his hands to check he really wasn’t chipping away in the sunlight. This has to be a cruel joke, Cazador or someone of his likes toying with him, teasing him with what he misses and has missed for the past 200 years. That and maybe his own reflection. But oh dear, how he’s missed the sun. The feeling, how it makes him feel, he feels happy, momentarily, until he remembers what just happened. First, getting kidnapped, then having some kind of tadpole inserted into his brain, now, he’s in the sun. What the hell. 

Then he also remembers the lone traveller that wandered free upon the ship, they’re probably around here somewhere, he better lure them out, question them. 

Many weeks passed by, Astarion ended up joining forces with the traveller he almost attacked, whom he learned goes by Tav, a Githyanki, a wizard, a cleric, a Tiefling, a druid and a warlock. He’d fought in many battles, some great, some his companions dragged him to, earned himself a few new friends, shared many stories with the camp, and shared his secret. The camp was very accepting of his condition, as long as he didn’t feed on an unwilling target. Tav was a dear on the night he almost starved, he’d gotten so hungry he thought he’d be able to sneak a quick bite without Tav noticing, guess guards were still too high and they noticed as soon as he got too close at night. After exposing himself on accident, Tav had offered a small amount of their blood to aid him. Now, it’s almost nightly he’ll go find Tav in their tent or bedroll and sate his hunger. Rats and boars just don’t tide him over anymore now that he has his own food source, willing food source. 

“Astarion?” Tav stirred, cracking their eyes, while searching for his. 

“Yes, my dear?” He hovered over them, looking as if he was going to feed but almost backing away this time. 

“I can feel you hesitating, why?” Tav had always been able to feel when he made his way into their tent for his needs, sometimes they woke but never pushed him away or forced him to take less than he needed. 

“Why, I am not! I am simply… going to wait for you to go back to sleep.” He looked proud with his excuse. 

“Lies. There’s another reason.” 

“There is not.”

“Yes there is.”

“No-”

“I’m not going to argue this, Astarion, is there something wrong?” 

He sighed, moved himself to sit by Tav’s legs and looked away, not bashfully, he was embarrassed. Tav sat up as well, but scooted closer to Astarion so he didn’t have to speak above a whisper if he did not see it fit.

“I feel greedy.” His demeanor of wit and confidence melted away as the bugs and frogs sang their night songs in the nearby pond. The night was cold, usually lonely, but he felt a sort of comfort with Tav that he hadn’t felt in years, he vowed to himself after he was turned that all mortals were never to be loved by him. They were going to die and he wasn’t. It wasn’t fair, he wanted to grow old with someone he loved deeply, he wanted more than to be someone’s pawn, a spawn of evil intent, born to do no good. 

Tav did not say anything, only tilting their head to the side with empathy shining in their eyes. 

“Now, I’m not asking for pity, dear, don’t give me that look.” 

“I know, I was simply allowing you to continue without interrupting, but look where we are.” 

“Cheeky. Fine,” He took a breath, thinking for a moment, “I haven’t been free of Cazador in two hundred years, I am unsure how to feel, how to live, frankly. I have been his slave, I’ve done his dirty work for as long as I can remember, I had no way out, I was underfed, mistreated, beaten, used, abused, everything you can think of darling, I experienced it under Cazador’s orders.” Sometime during his small rant you had moved closer, draping a blanket around his shoulders, and rested a hand on his shoulder, showing support without interrupting him. Astarion looked over to you with pain and sadness in his glossy red eyes. 

“Why don’t you stay for a while, you can leave before the sun comes up, no one has to know the witty and confident Astarion we all know stayed the night in another’s tent.” Tav proposed. They moved back onto the bedding they had tucked into the most private part of their tent, allowing him to follow if he chose to. He was not pressured, not forced, but given complete free will of his actions, something he still could not fully capture the grasp of because of his past. He thought on the choices he was proposed, 

“Only for a few minutes.” He decided since he doesn’t really sleep anyways, he’s an elf. He crept a few inches closer, unsure of where to go, Tav lied down and patted their chest, colour rose to Astarion’s pale cheeks, he was thankful it was dark. He took a few awkward seconds of staring at Tav before snapping out of his trance and shuffling back a few inches so his head could rest on their chest, he felt out of place, inconvenient, a burden to Tav’s sleeping. He was about to get up and thank Tav for their time before they brushed their hand through his messy curls and he stopped. His heart began beating a tad bit faster, he promised, no swore, that no mortal would make him feel this comfortable, loved, cared for, he knew what was inevitable… 

After many minutes, Tav could feel his breathing slow as they continued to rake their hand through his hair, untangling pieces every so often, they watched his eyelashes flutter before his breathing fell in tempo with their own. Tav guessed it had been a while since he’d felt comfortable, given his history and all. It was true, so for the first time in many, many years, Astarion fell asleep to the sound of a heart beating in the chest of another. 

[meli-writes]

Writing Masterpost (updated: 13/11/2024)

bio & expectations (for me) here.

welcome to my index of writing where i love vulnerable, intimate writing about kink, violence, and lesbians. stories sorted into categories and listed in recommended reading order, with word count so you can figure out reading time (avg 250/minute).

stories with sexual content marked with (18+), in bold if hardcore, stories with CWs marked with (CW), in bold if they're more serious (i.e explicit violence or sexual assault). unmarked stories may still be erotic or contain violence, but it should be light and non-intense.

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Kayspace

sci-fi setting (inc. for my VN, dekaton date knight). weird technology and literal seas between the stars, with themes about bodily autonomy/consent (esp trans & disabled bodies), anarchist/statist conflict, decaying imperialism, and anti-colonialism.

Mistakes - 2.5K (18+)(CW) prologue. precarity and emotional labour of a space-station escort, the pirate who's got her on retainer, and the mistakes she can't help but keep making.

Bitch Devourer - 3.3K remnant cavalier gets caught by a rebel with a very misinformative callsign. Ch. 01 - 0.45K (18+) Ch. 02 - 0.9K (18+)(CW) Ch. 03 - 2.0K (18+)(CW)

Blood Sugar - 1.1K runaway sugar baby wakes up in a mech pilot medbay, with none of their own blood. Ch. 01 - 1.1K (18+)(CW) Ch. 02 - ???

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Monsters

usually urban fantasy w/ vampires, werewolves, and witches too. has my own rules for curses & magic to make things cuter and gayer. mostly setting for hunter's mark.

Blood Pressure - 1.5K (CW) defeated, closeted huntress gets enthralled & mommy'd by an ancient vampiress.

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Magical Girls

anything where girls get magic powers from space rocks and then get into various superhero/supervillain-based stories. might crossover with criminal stuff.

Little Miss Laser - 11.5K clueless biker-girl villain tries kidnapping the trans magical girl she's smitten with and it goes awkwardly wrong, finding out there's more to her than she thought. Ch. 01 - 4.7K (18+)(CW) Ch. 02 - 6.8K��(18+)(CW) Ch. 03 - ???

House Bound - 1.5K ruby's stuck on house arrest duty for a villain, its ex, who won't stop trying to seduce it.

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Criminals

little girls in a big underworld w/ spies, thieves, smugglers, and more. sometimes magic, sometimes mundane.

Prescription - 2.0K (18+)(CW) thief who has to steal to get her meds, caught & punished by mommy mob boss.

Coffee? Vodka. - 1.4K a thief goes to their fence for something different than the usual toys. Ch. 01 - 1.1K Ch. 02 - 0.75K

Slipping Away - 1.5K exposed spy is waiting for her rival to come and kill her, but doesn't want to go. Ch. 01 - 0.35K (CW) Ch. 02 - 0.65K Ch. 03 - 0.55K (CW)

L'État, C'est Mecanisée - 0.95K the royal palace burns and its empress is chained to a clockwork operating table.

Le Loup Des Mers - 1.0K a pirate wakes up with an unexpected guest bound in her bed.

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Fantasy

usually lots of princesses and adventurers getting into trouble. maybe some angel/demon things, some monsters and others, cos it's a looser category.

Truth to be Dared - 7.1K whoever catches the faun gets the princess, so what if the princess does? Ch. 01 - 0.65K (18+)(CW) Ch. 02 - 1.4K (18+)(CW) Ch. 03 - 1.0K Ch. 04 - 1.6K (18+) Ch. 05 - 2.4K (18+)(CW) Ch. 06 - ???

Short Rest - 1.1K the barbarian cursed to forget and the cleric who is definitely just her roommate.

Consort - 1.1K a demon queen breaks her promise to a princess, and wreathes her neck in silver roses. Ch. 01 - 0.4K (18+)(CW) Ch. 02 - 0.7K (18+)(CW)

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Modern

professors and students, doctors and nurses, maids and anything else a little more down to earth.

Cupcakes - 1.2K (18+) waitress closing up has to deal with the asshole customer who came back to apologise.

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Science Fiction

mech pilots, starship pilots, and other space opera drama that doesn't fit into kayspace.

Mechismo - 3.3K a mech pilot works hard for her civilian 'shore-girl' and is owed some sweetness. No. 01 - 0.85K /// Shore-Girl No. 02 - 0.75K /// Declassified No. 03 - 1.0K (18+) /// Speak No. 04 - 0.75K /// Hit List

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Fanfic

writing based on other's stories, works from tumblr or elsewhere. done for learning & self-indulgent fun.

Thirty-Six - 2.7K (18+)(CW) / +2.8K Original [1][2][3] by Caffeinated Otter a fixer teaches her captive thief a lesson, but which one will break first?

Leap Year - 0.55K (18+)(CW) epilogue to Thirty-Six. a cut-loose thief stills keeps in touch.

Roxanne - 3.9K / +0.55K Original by Caffeinated Otter a regrettable career in bounty hunting, a blahaj, and a fugitive tucked under a blanket. Ch. 01 - 1.9K Ch. 02 - 2.0K

Sex Pollen - 0.95K (18+) / +0.7K Original by Caffeinated Otter yvrette's cheating ex has the most embarrassing alien illness, can she forgive her?

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Essays

or rather extended posts expressing my thoughts that relate (usually) to writing or the topics i write about.

an erotic iconoclasm against patriarchal gender & sexuality dividing line between concept & story an ode to chosting every tumblr post about mecha doll as an expression of gender

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dear Dapper - you're so great at helping me think through ideas and creative blocks, and you have such great thoughts about DnD religions, so I hope this question is perfect for you. (Forgive the length, feel free to trim in any posting).

Our campaign is set in a world where the gods found some "clay" and sculpted a world out of it. Most of the various plots stem from the earliest, most powerful creations having various emotions about this act (resentment and reformation, jealousy, an overextended sense of ownership, or feeling they can redo it better). In the past, the sense of resentment led to a war where the traditional, but respected, judge-like, ferryman-style psychopomp god of death was killed. He now exists as a partial remnant, God of Undeath - the dark moon. The other gods then fled, abandoning creation.

My character started as a cleric of the light moon goddess, and as perhaps the most mythologically invested player, I've been expanding to become pan-theistic - trying to round up what remains of divine power into beneficent hands (ie, against the bbeg). In a recent story arc, a part of his soul was stolen, then given freely to this God of Undeath.

The God's angry (presumably about being killed - the how is an upcoming plot point). He's viewed as asleep, and wants to 'wake' the living world into undeath. His worshippers are secretive necromancers and the undead. Otherwise his themes so far are generally gothy, macabre and evil.

I think my character's desire is to try to restore him in some way, or at least, 'wake' him into some element of his former neutral/benevolent self. As a player, I want to toy with the scary, gothiness of this change, and dance with temptation a bit. As both, I want to find some good or positive elements to the Undeath angle that I can spin.

What ideas does this generate for you? In particular, what are some positives from undeath that I could play with? Why would a normal living wizard fall into the necromantic worship of this 'deity' (other than the selfish desire for immortality as a lich or vampire)?

Thanks for any thoughts you might have!

Fundamentally any depiction of the undead are really a portrayal of our relationship TO death, and the many reactions we can have regarding it's suddenness, tragedy, and inevitability.

A god that's angry about their own inevitable demise strikes me as one that's stuck mid way through the seven stages of grief, a state not unlike undeath because it leaves those trapped in it unable to move on. Cultists might think they're gaining immortality through undeath but really they're trapping themselves in bereaved stasis.

The ultimate resolution then is taking steps toward catharsis and acceptance, of letting go, and coming to terms with the loss as a form of exorcism. Perhaps your character also had a significant death in their life and had trouble moving on, and wants to give this god the same hardwon peace they finally achieved, or achieve it by working things out through this god.

I find it interesting that "gothy" is a term that's brought up multiple times in your description, because one of the big parts about goth subculture (other than a kickass music scene) is a philosophy that asks us to not shy away from the fear of death but instead look at it head on, unpleasant as it is, and say " I embrace you and in doing so I acknowledge how great life really is"

[abysskeeper]

Trying to figure out some characterization on the latest Tav. Word vomited whatever this is. Idk.

------------------

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

Shit.

Astarion froze, the words brushing against the edges of his mind like the caress of a cool breeze against his face. His jaw clenched against the feeling of the bloody parasite wriggling behind his eye and he whipped around, searching for the woman who evaded his senses. He was so, damned sure everyone else had retired for the night, how had he missed her?

But sure enough, as his eyes scoured the camp in search of her, there she was, emerging from the shadows at the very edge of camp, small prayer book in hand. Blazing orange eyes met his, the color the leaves around them would turn in a few months, when the weather grew cooler still and winter approached. A fool would call them beautiful—the wizard had called them striking earlier that day—but Astarion knew better. Those eyes were the color of loss, the last warning before death inevitably claimed its rightful due.

Those eyes were as somber and bitterly determined as the God she prayed to.

Admittedly, Astarion wasn’t sure what to do in this situation. He hadn’t factored in for anyone discovering him before he claimed his victim, only what he would do when said victim inevitably awoke from his bite. She stood too far from him to be able to pivot and strike at her without giving her considerable time to react to him, and he couldn’t just delve for her sister trancing at his feet either. He had no desire to incite the holy magic of any cleric, let alone one devoted to the God who would take the most offense towards his existence.

His options were limited, and though he was loathe to concede to it, his best chance was to react instead of act. Perhaps he could talk some of his way out—no one knew what he was yet and, given his current stance, it would be just as easy to believe he was stealing from Rin as he was about to suck her dry. He could apologize for attempting and make up some excuse about how he needed the money, a sob story would probably work on Vira, and even if it didn’t, it was better than the alternative. And, if she did attack, then at least it would be easier to play the victim.

“Unless, of course, you wish to feel what it is like to have an electrified fist gripping your throat.”

She continued before he could say a word. Vira smiled—the smallest of upturns of the left side of her mouth—and tilted her head, strands of white hair slipping over her shoulder and neck with the movement. “I understand her being a sorcerer makes it seem she is an easy target, but I assure you her size is not an illusion. I can also assure you it is by no means a pleasant experience to startle her.”

Astarion frowned, eyes darting down to the other drow still trancing peacefully by his feet. He had considered Rin’s build when choosing her as his victim but, given everyone else in the camp and their specialties, she still wound up being the safest option in his mind. Perhaps he had misjudged. Perhaps Vira was merely toying with him. Perhaps it was both. He released a small sigh and returned his attention to Vira, realizing his misstep in ever taking his eyes from her in the first place.

Much to his surprise, she hadn’t moved from the edges of camp. It was a small mercy.

It also appeared to be in his best interest to attempt to talk himself out of this situation. He would downplay it considerably, and maybe grovel a bit. “I am quite good at what I do, you know. She wouldn’t have even felt me stealing—”

“Stealing?!” Vira’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head. “I suppose it is, in a sense, but I’ll stop you before you make a fool of yourself. Come, I can grant you what you need.” With that said, she motioned her head towards the woods she had just come from and turned around, receding back into them.

Astarion hesitated, watching as she disappeared into the tree line. Had she just implied…? And, surely if she had, she hadn’t just left her sister to him, right? If she had figured him out, then she wasn’t a fool, but if she had just turned her back on him and left Rin trancing peacefully at his feet then he couldn’t imagine her as anything else.

But no…no, she was still paying attention to him. He could still feel the parasitic connection faintly in his mind. She was watching him, waiting, likely wondering which option he would choose. He could still go for Rin, and Vira was far enough away now that he could likely get enough blood from the sorcerer to have a quick burst of energy to fend off any attacks. If Vira was bluffing and Dezerin didn’t immediately awaken and attempt to kill him for the intrusion, in any case. If Vira was speaking the truth, then the correct option was obvious.

Yet, the “correct” option did not feel much safer. If Vira had truly figured him out and what he needed, then she was either as much of a kind-hearted fool as he already believed, an over-confident idiot who thought she could handle herself alone against a starving spawn in the woods, or a woman with a plan. And what would it make him, exactly, if he followed the invitation of a cleric of Kelemvor into the woods actually expecting her to keep her word about offering him what he needed?

Desperate.

He would claim intrigue won out in the end. There were a lot of questions he held regarding her decisions, and if he followed her, perhaps she would even consider it appropriate to answer some. That was, assuming she did keep her word and did not immediately try to kill him, but it was a risk he was willing to take. He had no reason to believe she was lying about Rin, and if he were forced to consider that true, then he had no reason to believe she was lying about her word.

Still, Astarion stepped away from the resting party members quietly, and followed after Vira cautiously. He walked through the woods carefully, hand hovering over one of his daggers as his eyes darted around him, half-expecting the bladed end of a sword or a burst of holy magic to come flying at his head. When he moved further into the woods, he finally found her sitting calmly on the trunk of a fallen tree, flipping through her prayer book.

He was struck frozen again as her orange eyes turned from the pages to him, and her faint smile returned. “I see you chose the correct option,” Vira remarked.

“I had no idea there was an incorrect option.” The words came from him easily, even as his mind remained hypervigilant as ever. He watched her, waiting for even the slightest change in expression or twitch in her body to suggest she was on the verge of striking. “Are you testing me, Tav?”

Her smile fell at the use of her improper nickname. She had insisted half a dozen times not to be called by the first part of her given name already. He had figured correctly it was a decent way to throw her off, even if just slightly.

“It is not so much a test as a matter of your safety,” she answered, “Though I suppose my intent was not entirely without curious examination. I was interested to know who you chose; I am glad you chose properly.”

“Given the current atmosphere, you hardly feel like the proper choice, darling,” he quipped.

Her smile returned, both sides of her lips lifting as her eyes narrowed at him. He recognized that expression for what it was, he had worn it and smoothed it out a thousand times in the past two-hundred years.

Predator.

“Are you nervous, Astarion?” Vira asked simply.

“Nervous around you? You flatter yourself,” Astarion laughed. He knew better than to give an inch towards someone like her, which also meant he knew better than to concede the truth before she forced it from him. “Rightly cautious, however, would be accurate. You did just invite me into the woods alone after catching me attempting to steal from—”

“Ah yes. ‘Stealing,’” she cut him off again, just as she had with the tadpole. She tilted her head, “Is that how you refer to it?”

He frowned and placed a hand on his hip, indignant. “I haven’t the faintest what you’re otherwise trying to imply.”

“It’s just not the terminology I thought vampires used these days,” she shrugged easily. “I thought you still referred to it as feeding.”

She was bold to outright say it, he’d give her that. Still, his mouth went slack in well-practiced offense. “What in the Nine Hells—”

“Astarion,” she deadpanned, stopping him before he could even begin his rant. Her eyes all but verbally asked if they were really going to go down this road. “You aren’t exactly subtle. Between the red eyes, the pale skin, and the bite wounds on your neck you’ve done nothing to conceal, it is rather obvious,” Vira said, lifting a finger to point towards his neck. “To your credit, you are better with your fangs. You hide them well when speaking, but they’re not invisible.”

He deflated some, arms going slack at his sides while the remainder of his counterargument left him. He already determined he wouldn’t—couldn’t—deny it if she called him on it properly, and of course she did exactly that. The only thing he could get a read on and potentially control was how exactly she intended to respond to the revelation. She was surprisingly calm—far too calm about his predicament for him to trust her with the truth.

“That aside, everyone in the clergy has the innate ability to detect any undead in a certain radius around them,” she added and smirked, “It is, quite frankly, impossible for me to not notice you, and has been since we first met.”

“How charming that I’ve had your attention from the start, darling,” Astarion retorted. Slowly, his hand inched towards the dagger on his belt as he kept all of his senses focused on her. “And what, exactly, do you intend to do with that information?” he asked carefully.

Her eyes flickered to his hand and then back up to meet his gaze. “Probably less than I should, but also exactly as I said,” Vira answered. “You need blood, do you not?”

“As every vampire does,” Astarion said. He was certainly not letting her in on how dire his situation was. “And you are just…offering yourself?” he asked, unable to prevent the derisive snort he let out.

Vira shrugged again, looking down at herself and then back to him. “I suppose I am, yes,” she agreed.

He shook his head in disbelief. She was a bold one indeed. “Do you take me for a fool, Tavira?” he asked, nearly hissing. “Why would I trust you? A Kelemvorite cleric, of all things?”

“You shouldn’t,” she agreed again with a nod. “But I haven’t attacked you yet. And I am the best option for what you need now,” she shrugged. When he made no move towards her, she sighed and held out her arm towards him. “Consider it a peace offering,” she said with her small smile, “I have noticed how carefully you tread around me, and I’m sure you have noticed how on edge I am around you. This is a show of good faith, I won’t harm you. I am trusting you not to harm me, nor take anyone else from camp.”

Astarion eyed her outstretched arm. Her dusky skin glowed in the patches of moonlight filtering in through the trees, but he was barely able to focus on anything else other than the faint sound and miniscule flutter of her pulse in her wrist. She was absolutely correct in her observations, but he could still feel trepidation pumping in his veins. This was not a normal reaction towards his kind, especially not from someone of her clergy.

“Isn’t your church dedicated to hunting and eradicating my kind?” he asked, red eyes flicking back up to meet hers. “Is that not one of your core tenets?”

“It could be worse, I could be Lathanderian,” Vira joked, a wry smirk crossing her face. As quickly as it appeared, her smile fell, and she glanced away, staring out into the dark woods. “It is, I suppose, but in truth, I am not keen on waging wars with allies. I…have had enough of that for a lifetime.”

She said it softly, more as though she were talking to the darkness around them than she was to him. It felt as though that was an admittance he should not have heard, but when she returned her gaze to him, her orange eyes were momentarily weighted with a sort of melancholy. She blinked and it was gone, her gaze settling back into her usual, solemn calm.

“I made my decision a few nights ago,” Vira added, “Lord Death has not yet abandoned me for it, so I suspect that it is fine.”

She was being genuine about this. Astarion wasn’t sure why she was willing, but as his anxiety settled and he eyed her arm again, he decided it didn’t really matter. He was not one to turn his nose up at an opportunity, and he wouldn’t deny she was a kind-hearted fool for granting him this one. Perhaps that was all there was to it, and if it was truly as simple as that, perhaps he could push for more.

His eyes traveled from her wrist up her arm and to the exposed part of her collarbone. His gaze settled for a moment on her neck, watching the stronger pulse of her heartbeat with thinly veiled desire, before he met her eyes. “If that is what you decided, I would not decline. However, your neck would be far more suitable and far quicker for both of us. It would harm you less—”

Vira’s snort cut him off. “I am probably being far kinder than I should, but I am not a fool, Astarion,” she remarked.

His eyes narrowed. “I thought this was a sign of trust,” he retorted.

“It is, and I have reason to believe you would not take more than necessary if you are contained within the proper boundaries,” Vira explained, “But I have no reason to believe you would not drain me dry if I did not maintain those boundaries.”

She looked over him for a moment before sighing, the hand at her side moving to grip at the hem of her shirt. “Just as you have reason to believe I will hold up my end of the offer,” she continued and lifted her shirt some to reveal the wooden body of a stake tucked into the waistband of her pants, “But no reason to believe I would not stake you if you moved closer than I liked.”

Ah, mutual assurance, he understood that well enough and her point was well taken. He probably should have been concerned she was only now revealing she had a stake on her person, but if it weren’t for the fact she was denying him—and denying him correctly—Astarion would have smirked. Perhaps she had more guile than he initially credited her with. She was still offering at least, and he still needed to feed. These weren’t the worst terms he had operated under by far.

“Very well,” Astarion nodded in agreement.

He finally walked over to her and stopped in front of her outstretched hand. He took her wrist into his palm and raised it towards his mouth. Even without it being his preferred method, the clearer sound of her pulse pounding in her wrist and the faintest smell of her blood pumping beneath her skin had him salivating. To her credit, and to his surprise, her heartbeat remained steady, even as he lowered his mouth to her skin and pierced his fangs into her vein.

And if he happened to bite harder than necessary, if he happened to move his fangs to roll her vein and dig them deeper than he needed just to prove a point that the wrist hurt more than the neck, Vira made no movement to show any discomfort. Her gaze remained fixated on him, steady, calm orange eyes watching him with the slightest hint of curiosity. And in truth, any lingering pettiness he felt dissipated the moment the sweet tang of her blood hit his tongue.

[simlit]

Chosen of the Sun | | forest // ninety-five

END OF CHAPTER POLL | Vote for your favorite contestants, you may choose up to three. We’ve reached the end of chapter four. Since we’re well into the story now, please keep in mind, the results of this poll will have enormous impact on the story, so choose wisely. Entrants may vote for their own characters.  Vote now!

next / previous / beginning

HIGH PRIESTESS: Solana tells me the curse has been broken. How are you… feeling? KYRIE: I’m fine. What is this about? HIGH PRIESTESS: I told you afterwards we would find some way to proceed and I have done so. This is Elion Maharis. Formerly a member of the Elune Order. As of today, he’s been assigned to your personal guard. KYRIE: You’re hiring an assassin as my bodyguard? The irony is incredible. HIGH PRIESTESS: I hardly think anyone more suitable to protect you than someone with his skillset. KYRIE: I asked you not to do this. HIGH PRIESTESS: You asked for my trust. And then broke it. Again. That’s beside the point now. We must do this, for your safety. Please, Kyrie. Don’t fight me on this. KYRIE: Why do you keep saying “please”? You’ve never asked for my permission before. Why are you acting so strange? HIGH PRIESTESS: I— KYRIE: You know something, don’t you? This is about Al. Is she— HIGH PRIESTESS: Calm down. Alphanei is alive— KYRIE: Alive? How do you know? Have they found her? Where is she? HIGH PRIESTESS: Not here. I received a letter— KYRIE: A letter? From her? Can’t I read it— HIGH PRIESTESS: No! No. You need to focus on your duties, and improving your health. KYRIE: But why— HIGH PRIESTESS: Enough! You may go. Elion. ELION: Yes, My Lady. KYRIE: What an unfortunate change of pace for you. From special operations to babysitter. ELION: I’m more than happy with my position, Your Grace. Given you cooperate, the two of us could get on famously. KYRIE: I suppose that depends entirely on you. I don’t need Elora’s trained dog biting at my heels. ELION: I wouldn’t worry about that. Though, at the end of the day, it’s not really your choice, is it? You moon brats are a special breed of vulnerable. Though, you do have your... talents, don’t you, Your Grace? And even that has its drawbacks. I wonder, what will your darling mother think when she finds out you’ve been toying with the head cleric’s thoughts? KYRIE: How do you know about that? ELION: You’re my charge. It’s my job to know everything about you now. I could… intervene in that problem, if you’d like? Make it “go away”, so to speak. KYRIE: I’m not interested in violent solutions. ELION: Violence? Now, now. I’m a very diplomatic person. Don’t be quick to judge, my lord. KYRIE: And… what would you want in exchange for that service? ELION: I told you. Simply your cooperation. I’d appreciate you not making my job any harder than it need be. We’ll be spending a lot of time together from here on out. It’s best we build some trust, no? KYRIE: I suppose we should. ELION: Excellent. Then, by all means, lead the way, Your Grace. Consider me but a shadow. KYRIE: I doubt I’ll get used to that. ELION: Everything in due time, Dear Moon.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Scouring a Q&A archive for realmslore, as I am wont to do, and seeing people being semi-officially (officially?) directed to Lords of Darkness when they ask about Realms-specific undead lore even in the 5e era is amusing, and also validating (I love that book. I love how creating tomb guardians/mummies works in the Realms: it's so fucked up. I love the Bhaalist mummy and his relationship problems. I want my Bhaalist to get mummified.)

But anyway the concept that that lore holds in 5e Toril is darkly hilarious to me for reasons, because you'd be applying this to BG3:

Greater and Lesser vampires: Toril does in fact have rare daylight walking vampires! They're created when a succubus kills you by kissing you (ie draining your life force and consuming your soul during make out sessions/sex) and then your corpse rises again as a soulless undead horror that can walk in sunlight. Other than the daywalking a greater vampire is exactly like a normal vampire.

And I'm just... You can get your soul eaten by a fiend in game: can you imagine Astarion's reaction if - after being dumb enough to get fucked to death by Haarlep I know they don't kill you in-game, humour me - you came back as a vampire able to walk in the sun right off the bat? Either he's going to be insanely envious (why do you get everything he wants through an act of terminal stupidity), or he's going to be extremely put out that he isn't special. "There are no vampires like me" Are you sure babe? Bet?

Also as far as Toril is concerned with undeath in its own setting: undeath is evil, as are all of it's sources and all acts of inflicting it upon somebody (except for Baelnorn), but the undead are people and a bit more complicated. Not necessarily terribly nice people, who are monsters and sometimes have to do horrible things due to their nature, but they have control of their actions do damage control and decide not to be total bastards. (Most are total bastards). There are folk stories and legends of protective ancestors and helpful undead, and some undead hunters are wont to let "sleeping undead lie" if they're not bothering anyone. Interestingly I also saw something today that some undead hunting is actually done by undead, who don't appreciate other, less pragmatic and/or morally inclined undead being more evil and destructive than they need to be ("‘nuisance’ undead") and risking encouraging hatred/fear of the undead and angry mobs amongst the living: do you mind, some of us are trying to unlive in relative peace here. How is a Lich supposed to study with clerics breaking down their door, you animals?? Different source again, but D&D's token "good" vampire is a Torilian native (and by "good" I mean Chaotic Neutral and messy, and currently being warped and tormented by the Dark Powers of Ravenloft who enjoy a good chew toy). Toril does have another "good" vampire in official material, but he's been cursed to be Lawful Good and would explicitly go back to being a monster if you lifted that curse, so methinks he doth not count.

[tea-with-eleni]

Do not forgive me.

From Ludmilla's point of view, to Ireena. My players, you currently know about as much as Ireena, so this has some spoilers under the cut about Volenta's backstory. You have been warned. Others, this is mostly not-exactly-canon stuff of my own invention. Steal it if you want, though.

I owe you the truth, dear one. You are determined to believe I am better than my husband. I am honored by your trust, but I cannot accept it. Not until you know the full extent of who and what I am… and what I have done. I am not good. I am not you.

You have forgiven me thus far because you have not known the extent of my actions.

Dear Ireena, Volenta did not tell you everything. She told you what she feels are the important parts of her story. Please remember, however, that Volenta is dead. Volenta Popofsky died about three centuries ago. The person who told you her story is what Strahd and I made out of that poor dead girl. I love her, and I am quite certain that she would not condemn me, but death changed her. Our curse changed her. The girl she was did not want this existence.

Volenta was, in life, a cleric, I think. I do not know which god or goddess she served. She never said. I doubt the names would mean much to you or to me, at any rate. We’re from different worlds. Different worlds have different gods. That was the problem. Her god does not exist in Barovia. Have you noticed? I am not sure there are gods in Barovia.

People in Barovia, like you, like the saint whose bones hallow the Vallakian church, can be good. People can be holy. I am less certain of gods. I know that there are no good gods, at any rate. Are the dark powers sealed inside that forsaken temple gods? They might be. They certainly seem inclined to act the part. Volenta learned this all too well. It was upsetting enough to realize that her god was gone and she may never experience them again. It was infinitely worse, I think, when she realized that Vampyr was the one accepting her prayers in her god’s stead.

The realization drove her to despair. I gathered that Vampyr tried to claim her for itself, likely through a similar bargain to the one it offered my husband. Volenta did not want to accept its bargain, but she did not know how long she could resist.

She tried to trick it. She offered it service, but she sought her own death instead. I believe she wanted to try to kill me or my husband in the process, so that she could at least die a martyr. She had her own loved ones to protect.

That is the girl who arrived at Castle Ravenloft. Do not picture the Volenta you know. Picture, instead, a broken girl whose faith in her god and herself was utterly shattered. She was not well. She was not fully coherent. She could not even follow through on her plan to die fighting. She knelt in the Ravenloft courtyard and begged my husband to kill her.

I do not think Volenta knows what Strahd initially wished to do with her. He was willing enough to grant her wish, yes, but I know how he thinks. I know how he toys with the outsiders who think to invade his lands and slay the vampire. Dear Ireena, he intended to turn her into spawn and order her to attack her party. It did not matter to him who won that encounter; either a spawn he neither knew nor cared about would die and demoralize her party, or she would triumph and rid him of a nuisance in the process.

She told you what happened instead. I was not kind. I did not let her truly die, as she wished. I persuaded Strahd to grant her true vampirism instead. I argued that we needed to understand the curse better, since he would want you forever by his side, as yourself rather than as his slave. Strahd agreed. We drained Volenta to the point of death. She drank from us in turn. She accepted the curse. Strahd left her with little choice.

She was not the same as she was before. The curse severed her permanently from her former divine gifts. The girl who came to us would have been distraught. The remade Volenta did not seem to mind. She seemed grateful, even joyous, in her rebirth. Vampyr was her new patron, and now she accepted it gladly. You have seen her use its dark gifts.

Her party found her eventually, of course. She did not mention to you that their number included her sister and her betrothed. It matters little to her now. She slaughtered and drained them all. She was not upset by the deaths. She knew that she ought to be, I think, but she still does not seem to feel regret or remorse. Volenta may not be capable of feeling those things. Those emotions seemed to die with the girl she was before.

My dear Ireena, I love Volenta. I am selfish enough that I would condemn her party a thousand times to keep her in this world. She enjoys her existence more often than not; she cannot feel the pain my selfishness and the resulting deaths should have caused. She cannot judge me. You can, and should. Of course, there is still more.

I know that you loved Vaclav Vallakovich once, lifetimes ago. I heard Strahd condemn the man for daring to love you. I may not have recognized him when Doru Donovich came with the mage’s rebellion, but it makes little difference in the end. I did not think. I was too angry to take care. I made him into spawn. Ireena, I am sorry. I have apologized to him. I owe you the same apology. I know better than anyone else in Barovia how inadequate that is. I know what I have condemned him to. I have forced both of you into a terrible situation — both of you, but especially him. A spawn is a slave. If he never sees me again, never hears an order from me, if I ignore him utterly, he will have a semblance of freedom. It is not true freedom. It never will be while I endure. We are connected, and I can pull on that connection — those puppet strings, please understand — at any time. I have tried to let him believe that there is safety in distance. Please add lying to my list of crimes. It is the least I can do.

I was Strahd’s spawn, Ireena. He is an intelligent man and prone to experimentation. I have said before that it is better to be dead than spawn. A vampire controls, or can control, their spawn completely on a physical level. No enchanter’s magic is so complete, nor so irresistible. You know as well as I that my kind are naturally enthralling. You know that effect can be resisted. Spawn cannot resist their creator. The bond is deeper than magic and far more cruel. I inflicted it on a man you once loved. I dare not free him, since that may well kill some essential part of his nature. I dare not free him, because I do not know what he would become.

I am a hypocrite. Despite my experience, I made the spawn for the feast of St Andral. I will only say, in my defense, that we made them from the condemned. We did not order them to kill, only to create chaos. It’s a pathetic argument: I knew they would kill and could not control their thirst. At the time, I did not care. I needed to convince you that Vallaki was no safe haven. I needed to see you.

You knew Vallaki was unsafe without my help. You recognized Vasili. I did not need to do anything. Do not forget what I have done.

I am grateful beyond words that you have chosen to accept my protection. I will give you everything I am capable of giving. You deserve better than Barovia. You deserve better than me. I am as much of a monster as any of my kind. I try to pretend otherwise, but do not forget or forgive my actions.

You should not trust me, dear Ireena. You do not know what parts of me are missing. I don’t know myself, and none remain who could tell me who I was. You are alive and whole, no thanks to me.

You owe me nothing.

[lgbtqiamuslimpedia]

Maryam Khatoon Molkara

DOB :1950

Known for :Iran's first Trans muslim woman who successfully change her gender legally.

Occupation :Trans Activist,Rights Advocate

Spouce :Mohammad

Religion :Islam

Gender :Woman

Sexuality :Straight

Ethnicity :Persian

Death :2012

Maryam Khatoon Molkara (also known as Maryam Khatoonpour Molkara) was a campaigner for trans rights in Iran, where she is widely recognized as a matriarch of the transgender community.She was later instrumental in obtaining a letter which acted as a Fatwa enabling sex reassignment surgery to exist as part of a legal framework.

Early life

Maryam Khatoon Molkara was born in 1950, she was the only child of her father's second of eight wives.Her father was a landowner. Maryam says she always preferred clothes, toys, & activities that were traditionally for girls.In her adolescence, Maryam went to parties dressed as a woman.She was often tortured & bullied for her feminine behavior. When she came out to her mother,her mother refused to accept Maryam's gender identity.This made her decide to take feminizing hormone, instead of immediately seeking out a gender affirming surgery.

Legal Recognition of Gender Identity in Iran

In 1975, Molkara traveled to London where she “learned about transsexuality & realized that she was not a passive homosexual. Molkara started to write letters to Shia Cleric Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, then in exile in Iraq, asking for religious advice about being assigned the wrong gender at birth.In one of these letters, she said that her gender identity had been clear since she was two years old, as she used to apply chalk to her face to imitate putting on make-up. Khomeini had already written in 1963 that corrective surgeries for intersex people are not against Islamic law, & his answer was based on this existing idea rather than developing a new fatwa for transgender people.He suggested she live as a woman, which included dressing as one.

After this, she met with Farah Pahlavi, who gave her support towards Molkara and other transgender individuals wanting sex reassignment surgery.In 1978, she traveled to Paris, where Khomeini was then based, to try to make him aware about transgender rights.After the Islamic Revolution, Molkara started to face intense backlash due to her gender identity. She underwent arrests, and death threats. She was fired from her job at the Iranian National Radio and Television, forced to wear masculine clothing,injected with male hormones against her will, & detained in a psychiatric institution. Eventually she was released from jail because of her good contacts with religious leaders, such as Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani.

Molkara continued to campaign for her right to get gender-affirming surgery. In 1985, she confronted Khomeini in his home in North Tehran.She wore a man's suit, carried the Quran, and she tied shoes around her neck. This was a reference to the Ashura festival, and also indicated that she was looking for refuge.Maryam Khatoon Molkara was held back and beaten by homophobic security guards until Khomeini's brother Hassan Pasandide intervened.He took Molkara into his house, where she pleaded her case, yelling "I'm a woman, I'm a woman!" His security guards were suspicious about her chest, as they thought she could be carrying explosives.She revealed they were her breasts, as she developed them using hormone therapy.After listening her story, Ahmad Khomeini was touched & took Maryam to speak to his father, where he asked 3 of his doctors about the surgery in an attempt to make a well-informed decision.Khomeini then decided to permit sex reassignment surgery by issuing a fatwa.She left Khomeini’s house victoriously. She had a letter in her hand addressed to the Chief Prosecutor & the head of Medical Ethics giving a fatwa (a religious authorization) for her & for all those like her to have their gender surgically reassigned. That one daring step by Maryam changed the dynamics and made history in Shia Islam.

Maryam lobbied for the according medical knowledge & procedures to be implemented in Iran, and worked on helping other trans people have access to gender-affirmative surgeries.

However, Maryam completed her gender affirming surgery from Thailand in 1997, due to "unhappiness with procedures in her native country''.The Iranian govt paid for her surgery, and she was able to help establish government funding for many other trans individual's surgeries.

Trans Rights Adocacy

Maryam was a prominent advocate for trans rights & gender affirmative care.Maryam started her activism in Iran during the early days of the Islamic revolution.

In 2007, she founded and subsequently ran the Iranian Society to Support Individuals with Gender Identity Disorder (Persian: حمایت از بیماران مبتلا به اختلالا�� هویت جنسی ایران).This was the first state-approved transgender organization in Iran.Before this, she used her own property in Karaj to help other trans people receive legal advice & medical care, including post-op care.She continued her fight to advance the situation of transgender people in Iran.She also helped many incarcerated trans people in Iran.

Marriage

Maryam got married in a traditional Islamic way (nikah) to a government officer named Mohammad, in Tehran.

Death

Maryam Khatoon Molkara died in 2012, after suffering from a heart attack at the age of 62.

[madwheelerz]

Manifestation Theory

Overview

So, essentially, I think a lot of the events in Stranger Things are DnD manifestations, specifically Mike’s manifestations. There are a lot of small things throughout the series that indicate Mike is in some way connected to the upside-down and my conclusion is that Mike is basically creating a story. I think we’re essentially watching Mike’s campaign come to life with the main characters being Will and the party.

Why Mike?

Why Mike? Throughout the series a lot of the supernatural elements tent to steer clear of Mike. If Will and El are the main targets, then why leave Mike behind? Mike is constantly figuring out what the upside-down plans thus showing a firm understanding of the way that the upside-down works. How does he understand the upside-down so well? He’s almost always reaching the right conclusions both about the upside-down and El’s powers.

Mike is also the Dungeon Master, and his basement is where a lot of foreshadowing happens. Throughout Stranger Things the roles that the characters have in DnD carry a lot of importance throughout the show. Lucas is a ranger and as such we see him using long range weapons a lot. Dustin is a barb and saves everyone with a song in season three. Even El and Max who don’t technically have roles fit into what they are assigned.

Max deems herself a zoomer and then proceeds to hijack a car to get herself and the party where they need to go. El is deemed a mage because of her telepathic abilities, but it also serves as a nice hint towards El’s struggle with being defined as a monster. From what I know a mage is a npc character, however, which also interesting.

Mike and Will are tricky. Will is either a cleric or wizard and it seems like he might fill both roles in the show considering that he is heavily implied to have powers and as of season four we do see him offering a lot of emotional support to Mike. Mike, on the other hand, has been described as both a paladin and the DM, but has also been stated to be a cleric in outside source materials. This indicates that Mike has three roles in the show.

Currently we’ve only really seen Mike offering support to El and Will throughout the show and thus fulfilling the role of the cleric. There do seem to be hints that we will see Mike being a paladin in season five. Mike’s role of DM is a constant in the show. Mike is the leader and he’s the one that normally makes campaigns. Mike is apart of every DnD game and there are only four in the show. Mike has been the DM for two of those four campaigns and three of the campaigns took place in his basement.

Will is the only one who doesn’t take on the persona of the villain while doing his campaign, but instead just acts as a narrator. I do also want to point out that both Mike and Eddie do attempt to embody the persona of the villains in their campaigns. This might be one huge ‘sadistic’ campaign that Mike is running without realizing it. Mike has also been contacted to frogs via insults and Dustin mistaking Dart for a Pollywog is important enough to be the episode title.

There is also this interesting parallel.

Joyce is told multiple times that it could all be in her head.

El

El in this scenario is a character within the game. She isn’t real. There are a few suspicious lines throughout the series that allude to people potentially not being real. El is associated with Mike’s toys despite her lack of interest in them and it’s interesting because it’s not like Mike isn’t aware of El’s disinterest, but it does recontextualize Max saying that Mike didn’t “own” El. It does also beg the question of Mike being the one to refer to El as “Eleven” the most often and others only doing so in his presence. When El appears it’s also with the exact powers needed to accomplish Mike’s goal of ‘finding Will’. She’s able to locate people and open gates.

Eleven is treated almost as El’s full name, but very rarely do people call her by her number. Mike is the one who does so the most. Mike also gives El his watch in episode three and she doesn’t return it until episode seven. If the watches are representing time, then Mike essentially gave El ‘time’.  During the argument where Max says that Mike doesn’t own El there is an emphasis placed on El being her own person and capable of making her own decisions.

This also brings into question the whole “she was born special and maybe I was the first to realize” thing because this statement doesn’t make sense unless something else is going on there. There is also El’s independence bringing her farther away from Mike as she tries to settle into having a real family of her own. Mike leads the boys to look for Will, but instead they find El. El begins to substitute in Will’s role until Will is recovered. This is why she disappears.

El completes her duty, she defeats the Demogorgon and has successfully helped the boys find Will. Will is in good hands and alive so El disappears, but Mike is still clinging to the idea of her because El is now one of the most important people to him. We also have Mike fully believing that the El he sees in s2 up until Punk! El era is all in his head, but what if she was. What if Mike was so sure that El wasn’t there because she is a product of his mind.

Max’s claim that Mike doesn’t own El. Dustin looks at Mike and El while saying Mental. Lucas implies that El escaped from pennhurst.

Also, while the image is here, I will point out that big black shape in the background that looks like a bunch of tentacles wrapped together. I’ve seen it behind Mike’s head a few times so do with that what you will.

Holly’s Role

So, what role does Holly play in this? Holly from what I gathered is her family’s observer. She watches as her family interacts and takes note of any tension that happens. If Mike is doing this even subconsciously it’s possible that Holly will be one of the first people to notice. Holly is also going to be old enough to be able to participate in the plot next season so she’ll be in a position to create that link between what is happening and what it might mean for her family.

Karen

What could Karen have to do with this? Well, if Mike is capable of creating monsters, creatures, and potentially people Karen most likely knows unless it’s an entirely new ordeal. Imagine if sending El to see his mom would’ve solved everything way back then. In the same season that Karen is trying to get closer to Mike she is finally taking notice of the things happening due to the upside-down.

Another thing is the more prominent the supernatural elements become the less we are allowed to access what Mike is really thinking and how he feels. Obviously, every season the threat is becoming more dangerous, but we are also watching Mike become more closed off every season.

Mike & Chrissy

Mike and Chrissy share a lot of parallels, but what I wanted to talk about is Chrissy’s death and how it’s tied to Mike. Before episode one of season 4 really kicks off Mike is giving a curfew of nine. When Chrissy dies, she is with Eddie and its night implying that the Hellfire campaign had already ended. What does Mike going home mean? It means California.

When Mike gets off the plane to go in Lenora we know that he is acting weird. He’s acting this way because he’s conforming. In the video store when the news anchor announces Chrissy’s death there is a sign next the TV that says, ‘due date’ and ‘9pm’. The news channel is also channel 9.

So, what does all this mean? Forced conformity is killing the kids, but specifically Mike’s forced conformity. The episode two summary of season four also links these events. “A plane brings Mike to California – and a dead body brings Hawkins to a halt.”

Focus Shifting

Every season, except for season four, Mike is always focused on the main victim. In seasons one and two Will is the main victim and for the most part who Mike is focused on. In season three he is focused on El and pushing Will to the background. El becomes the main target whereas the supernatural elements seem to almost skate by Will, or maybe there are some moments here and there, but nothing prominent.

In season four everything is a lot more condensed. Mike conforms = someone dies. His monologue is linked to Max’s death. His trip to California is linked to Chrissy’s death. His fight with the wonder twins happens in the same episode as Fred’s death. Him making up with Will happens in the same episode that Max escapes Vecna. Then we have Patrick. Who is targeted suddenly and seemingly at random. About as sudden as a random, but necessary trip to some Mormons?

Mike & Max s2x09 vs s4x04

Now for more regarding Max’s escape in “Dear Billy” and Mike in “The Gate”. We all know this

infamous parallel. Something to consider here is that Mike and Max were grouped with the same people, Dustin, Lucas, and Steve except in the case of “Dear Billy” Mike is in California and as such not there, unless of course he is in a sense either by having manifested Vecna or through the angelic imagery. Here are some things from Mike that might be suspicious. There’s also a better look at the spiral that I was talking about earlier. 

Vale of Shadows

Then we have the vale of shadows which is the original name for the upside-down.

As Dustin continues to describe the place it slowly pans away from Lucas in the shot leaving Dustin, who is narrating, and Mike. Mike also has a song called “The Vale of Shadows” in his playlist which is interesting considering as far as we know he’s never been to the upside-down or to the vale of shadows.

Conclusion

So, what exactly do I think is happening? I thinking we’re watching Mike essentially have emotional breakdowns via supernatural forces. His fears are being reflected back via monsters. This might be why Mike’s POV is so hidden from the viewer because the supernatural forces are now acting as that perspective. As I’ve mentioned before as these forces become stronger Mike’s perspective becomes more hidden.

This also leans into the lack of Mike being targeted and interacting with the upside-down creatures until the final season because unless there was some sort of tie there it’s weird. This also does beg the question of the Demogorgon lifecycle sheet, if true, though because it would imply that every Demogorgon originated from Mike in a sense. This would also explain Mike being so heavily associated with blue despite that being a bad color.

tagging: @booksandpaperss, @boysdontcryboycry, @heroesbyler​, @brionysea​

[spacemonkeysalsa]

Her Embrace, Her Tears

Multi-chaptered, fluff, angst, eventually smut

Lae'zel probably didn't need a good excuse, or further motivation, to go to war with Shar. But, she is about to get it anyway.

Five years post game, Dark Justiciar/Mother Superior/Chosen of Shar Shadowheart and (with a few notable exceptions) everyone got their bad endings, in that everyone is still alive, but shitty. Lae'zel is thriving though, aside from her relationship.

Read Chapter One on Ao3

or read the rest of Chapter Fourteen below the cut

---

Carrying the child, Shadowheart made her way back to the enclave so slowly that by the time she got there, Orla was already waiting. The young sorcerer nervously reported that a commotion from the lower floor of Elfsong had alerted them to the fact that things hadn’t gone according to plan. They had seen the red wizards scatter, and Lae’zel give chase, ultimately tracking her down. But she was too much for them. Predictably.

Only Orla had escaped.

“What a lot of trouble you’ve become,” Shadowheart sighed, one hand tracing along the gith child’s mousey hairline. He was still fast asleep, and she wasn’t entirely sure it was all the magic at this point. He’d had a rather eventful day, after all. Perhaps exhaustion had taken him as much as her cleric’s power. 

Or, he was faking.

“I don’t know if they’re dead,” Orla expanded on her story, nervous. “They were certainly hurt, but they just vanished. Like she pushed them through a portal. Only, I didn’t see any portal,” she finished, sounding unsure. “There was a kind of glowing little box in her hand. A curious toy.”

Shadowheart froze, “Many sided?”

“Dodecahedron, I’d guess.” Orla nodded.

“Covered in gith symbols,” Shadowheart concluded, unsure what it meant that Lae’zel had found some use for the astral prism years later. And even more unsure what it meant that she’d never mentioned it to Shadowheart before.

“If they’re alive… should we send a party after them?” Orla sounded truly shaken by her own question, and with a little grim displeasure Shadowheart realized that she thought she understood her feelings on the matter. Clint and Bree had fallen behind, fallen into enemy hands. Abandoning them was probably the right call, that was why they didn’t know much about the mission in the first place. They couldn’t give anything away. They knew the location of the enclave, but so did Lae’zel, so they couldn’t hurt them with that information. At the least, there was no rush.

“We focus on relocating the child to somewhere safe first,” Shadowheart didn’t want to sound like she was giving up on them completely. “With any luck, Lae’zel won’t catch up with us, but we will get the chance to encounter her again. We can learn of their fate then.” That was all the assurance she thought she could afford.

“He’s not staying here? I thought it was her Lady’s will that we rear—”

“We are not staying here,” Shadowheart clarified. They couldn’t. This enclave had grown strong in the last few years, but as the home of the Mother Superior of the church—of two Chosen of Shar. It was compromised. Shadowheart needed to take the child and go someplace where Lae’zel wouldn’t find them. And she needed to bring a few trustworthy and useful acolytes with her. This was her way of letting Orla know she was one of them.

The girl seemed to understand, and hid any surprise, fear or excitement with a stiff nod. “Should I make arrangements? Where are we going? Tonight?”

“Already made, you’ll see when we get there, and yes. Don’t ask so many questions,” she added the last part with a sigh. But first. They needed to get the child to cooperate. “Leave us,” Shadowheart cocked her head at Orla, shooing her. Surely, the girl would have a few goodbyes to say. It wasn’t exactly allowed to have close personal attachments within the enclave, but Shadowheart knew better than to stand on such small details of disobedience. The girl would be grateful for the little notice she had.

It didn’t surprise Shadowheart at all that Orla practically fled the room. She turned back to the child, deciding to take advantage of his continued slumber. She needed to make this as painless for both of them as possible. She gathered him in her arms again, feeling him stiffen.

She was left with the decided impression that he was only pretending to sleep now. But she let him. That suited her just fine. She kept her eyes flitting back and forth to his mouth, ready to interrupt, in case he tried to cast a spell and take her by surprise. She moved silently through the enclave, followed by scant whispers in the dark. Her intent had been to vanish without a formal goodbye, and without informing anyone who didn’t absolutely need to know. But, of course, a few people would have found out, or even guessed. She thought she could feel the nervousness in the air as her acolytes skirted the shadows, keeping a vigilant eye on her and the child.

She stopped walking as she reached her destination, then gently touched the boy’s face. “It’s alright. Please wake up. I need to say something to you, little one.” Sure enough his eyes came open almost immediately, though the second he looked at her he shut them tight again on reflex, his little fingers pressing over his eyelids as though to chastise himself for his quick obedience. She helped him stand upright in front of her, and crouched down, a hand on either shoulder. He still looked frightened, but wasn’t trying to pretend to be asleep or avert his amber gaze any longer. Progress.

“I’m sorry,” Shadowheart started softly.

For a moment the boy remained tense but the longer she held his gaze, she felt his thin shoulders relax.

“I’m sorry that we adults can’t get ourselves in order. That we keep passing you around. It must be so difficult, not knowing where you belong.” She tried to be gentle as she touched his little cheek, fingertips finding dark freckles and brushing at them as though they were tears. “Can I tell you something true? Something that I think will help?”

The child looked at her, wary, but shrugged after a moment’s silent contemplation.

“You belong anywhere you want to be. You don’t need to look for a home. You already have one. I hope you’ll want to stay with me, but if you don’t, we’ll figure out the right place for you. Alright?” She even managed to mean it, in the moment. He’d want to stay, of course. It was never going to be a matter of force. He would choose it. It would be the only thing to choose.

He stayed silent, but from him, Shadowheart had the sense of one who was full of words. Afraid then. That was alright. Good even, for the moment. “Do you like your name? Or would you prefer to choose a new one? What shall I call you?”

At that, his eyes fixed in the middle distance a moment before he shrugged again.

“You can call me Shadowheart. When I first came here, I had a different name. I don’t remember it anymore.”

He looked doubtful at that, amber eyes narrowing slightly as he cast them on her face a little more steadily than before.

“I really don’t,” she shrugged back at him. “But I know where it is, if I wanted it.” She turned her head to look at the looming darkness just to the side of them. The great black glass resembled a large scrying mirror, which in turn, Shadowheart had always thought looked like the depths of a deep well. “It’s gone. Where everything goes.”

“What is that?”

“A mirror. See how you can see us standing there?” Barely. The dark glass seemed to pull at the image, making their forms ever distant shadows. “What do you know about The Lady of Loss? Have you ever heard of her?”

He nodded, but didn’t answer directly. He gnawed on his lip a moment first, before he said, “she’s a goddess. An angry one.”

“You don’t need to be frightened of her. Or of any god, but especially not of the Lady of Loss. She’s above anger. But mortals aren’t so lucky. Don’t you feel angry sometimes?”

The gith child made  a face, contemplating that.

“It’s not pleasant, is it?”

He was looking at the mirror. That was a good sign.

“You can give anger away to her. She’ll take it from you. Sadness too. And fear. That’s all she asks, you know. That you take the things you feel, that you don’t need, and you give it to her. It’s no burden for her, the way it can be for us.” Slowly, Shadowheart began to orient them so that he was looking into the mirror directly, and she could stand, just behind him. “Try it. Think about something that makes you angry. Let her take it away.”

A strange twinge coursed through her body—a feeling she didn’t understand, but it was her instinct to ignore. She must’ve done this for the first time, once. Who had been standing behind her?

The gith child wasn’t so tense under her fingertips any longer, his little shoulders slumped inwards as he made eye contact with the endless void captured in front of him. “I just… think about it?”

“And then, never again.”

It was nearly palpable, when he began to pray in earnest. Prayer could be taught, but there was something instinctual about it as well, something that a person either connected with, or didn’t. Shadowheart watched him, some echo of the burden he cast to Shar weighing her down as well.

“I feel… funny,” the gith child murmured.

“Good kind of funny?”

“Yes.”

“What about fear? Were you afraid today?”

“...Yes.”

“I thought so. I would have been. Think about being afraid. About everything that happened to you today.” Shadowheart encouraged him. It wouldn’t be too much at once, surely. Especially not for a new initiate. All the same, some instinct within her told her to mark him closely as he regarded the mirror again.

An hour later, Shadowheart left the enclave for what she knew would be the last time. 

They were taking little, so she’d shed treasure and pointless memento and foregone the luxury of individual goodbyes.

She’d expected to feel something inconvenient and stabbing at the prospect of leaving the only home she could remember, forever. But she didn’t look back. She was alone again, having sent the gith child and Orla on ahead. The sun was down, and they would travel in secret, in silence, and cloaked under an unassuming farewell to the city.

Something tugged at the corner of her eye. Some temptation to look back, now that she was on the other side of the bridge? But no, it was a glimmer of light from a balcony up ahead. The home of the High Harper showed some signs of life.

Gradually, Shadowheart let her pace slow and swerve, ever so slightly until she was on Jahiera’s front porch. After she knocked, she worried for a split second that Rion would answer the door—or even one of the little ones. She wasn’t exactly here to transparently wish an old friend goodbye, but she still wasn’t sure she liked the idea of anyone seeing her before she vanished from the city. To her relief, it was Jahiera’s half-orc son Jord. Harmless enough. From what Shadowheart knew of him, he didn’t have enough of a social circle to gossip about her. She wasn’t even entirely sure that he really knew who she was until he didn’t hesitate to let her inside and said, “Jahiera’s upstairs—you can surprise her,” and removed himself from the entryway without further pomp.

Jahiera had been old when Shadowheart met her, but didn’t look older for the years that she had gathered since then. Besides, maybe, there was a little extra exhaustion around her scrutinizing eyes. She blinked a hello at Shadowheart, and cleared her throat before she arose from the chair where it appeared she’d been… knitting? Shadowheart was sure she’d seen a flash of needles and a spool of yarn when she first entered the room, but Jahiera must have stowed it away expertly. There was no sign of any such activity remaining. She would be determined not to play into any kind of stereotype.

“Ah, my friend,” she sounded tired too, Shadowheart was troubled to hear. Would she ever see her again? Would this conversation be their last?

And would she even remember it?

“I’m sorry to just drop in like this,” Shadowheart felt a distant pang as she noticed how her words, her tone, helped uncoil the tension from the High Harper’s body. Until she’d said something, Jahiera’s expectations had been decidedly less pleasant, it seemed. “I’ve been meaning to call for sometime, and I found myself with a few extra moments as I was passing by.”

Jahiera took back just enough tension to look as nonchalant as possible as she conceded, “I understand. You’re a busy woman, and we have to take advantage of what time we find for ourselves in the little moments in between,”she gestured to a chair, and resumed her own seat without betraying any hint of weakening bones. “Have you been meaning to call for some time, due to a particular inquiry?” She more wondered aloud than asked.

“Before this morning? No. Just meant to call. But then I heard something that made me think I perhaps did have a question for you.”

“How very appropriately mysterious,” Jahiera’s sometimes harsh mouth softened into a half smile. “Whatever could you have heard?”

“A hint of something. An implication that I ought to know more than I do on a topic. Not unusual for one such as myself.”

“Do such implications always eat at you so?” wondered Jahiera with a smirk that was somehow both compassionate and a little patronizing.

“No,” Shadowheart admitted, and it was the truth. In as far as she knew it. “Minthara told me once that the problem with prizing and hoarding secrets is that most of them aren’t worth knowing. Sometimes, when I worry that I’ve… forgotten too much, I remember that. I’ve made it a point to keep that little nugget of wisdom because I think she was rather onto something.”

With a roll of her eyes Jahiera’s smirk became a little more prominent, “that one usually is, though it’s not also such a delight to receive such treasures from her.”

For a moment, Shadowheart lost her train of thought, lost her planned preamble into the subject. Jahiera was observing her, content to wait in silence while she found it. Better to just get to it, “Did you ever know a Viconia Devir?”

Jahiera’s shoulders slumped, and Shadowheart observed something stirring in her eyes before she turned them away. “We met her together once, you and I.”

“Did we?” Shadowheart found herself worrying at her dress, and thinking of the piwafwi again. “I’m afraid I don’t recall the acquaintance.”

“That is a quirk of your people,” Jahiera reminded her unnecessarily. “But. I knew Viconia for many, many years before you did. She and I once traveled together in much the same manner that you and I did as well. She was my friend. Sometimes,” she added with a shrug. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I can’t remember her at all,” Shadowheart answered simply.

Jaheira was already nodding, like she’d heard the answer in the air before Shadowheart uttered it aloud. “In all the years I knew her, Viconia never forgot me completely. Though, she had many opportunities to do so, I imagine.”

Shadowheart could imagine that too. There were precious few people who Shadowheart had enough intact memories of to fully keep an accurate understanding of who they really were in her mind. 

“She would drop by, often unexpectedly, and we would talk about old times. I would tell her about some of the things we did that she couldn’t recall. She would leave. Years would pass, and she’d drop by again,” the exhaustion seemed more prevalent through Jahiera’s features. “Sometimes she would lie to me, and I would only know it because she didn’t remember that she’d told me the truth before—or that I’d been there,” she laughed, but didn’t sound amused. “If I’d known that she lived so close by, I might’ve made more of an effort to maintain the friendship.” With a sigh, Jahiera added. “I should have guessed about the enclave.”

Something about Jahiera’s tone caught Shadowheart’s attention, though she thought her suspicion a little wild for a split second before Jahiera confirmed it.

“And maybe I did. Maybe that was the arrangement. There are things I can’t remember either. Things I… might’ve given away.” Her confession was light and without guilt.

“You’ve been to the House of Grief. As a parishioner?”

“I have no memory of it. But then again, I probably wouldn’t, would I?” Jahiera shrugged. “My dealings with Sharrans have been largely negative, but we need not dwell on that. Viconia was my friend. She knew my grief. And I knew hers. Often more intimately than she did.”

Shadowheart contemplated that and decided it wasn’t so shocking after all. Even the more dogmatic paladins of Shar’s greatest enemies felt the pull of the Lady of Loss. Everyone did. That was entirely the point. Why had Lae’zel asked her to speak to Jahiera about this? If anything, it was rather affirming to hear.

“Curious, isn’t it, that I remember so much of Viconia, and you, so little?”

Nothing at all, and that pang hit Shadowheart right between the ribs. Was it curious? “I forget a lot of people. Remembering them at all is the exception, not the rule.”

Jahiera looked saddened by that. “Viconia would have been an exception. Unless you actively chose not to remember her. Now why would you do that?”

That pang lingered. “It’s not my place to know,” she said softly.

“I suppose you’re right,” Jahiera did have an irritating way of dropping her own investment in a topic to make you evaluate your own. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? And you can rest assured there’s no great mystery to Viconia. Not anymore. Even without remembering her name, you know her as well as you know yourself.”

“Oh?”

“Half a century ago, she tells me that she has a little half elf waif to bring up in the ways of The Lady of Loss. She wants to know if I have any advice, as the greatest mother she knows,” Jahiera rolled her eyes. “I suppose it could have been someone else she was speaking of. But, in retrospect. It certainly was not.”

[maul-of-shame]

Comic con panel on youtube, at 29:28, Patrick McKay said, "Celeborn will be back don't worry," but that barely got a reaction from the crowd... ugh

What was the crowd’s reaction? A solid… crickets.

Nothing.

Nada.

Barely a ripple.

Why? Because let’s be real: this character is about as thrilling as watching paint dry on elven architecture.

Patrick McKay could have announced they were recasting him as a piece of Rivendell furniture, and I doubt the reaction would have been any different.

I mean, here we have Elrond, Galadriel, all these dynamic characters with layers, struggles, and, you know—actual presence! But Celeborn? The most memorable thing he’s done is not showing up for an entire season! If there’s any lesson here, it’s that maybe we’ve all realized that his so-called “return” is just… underwhelming. People are here for legends, not cardboard cutouts who somehow exist in the same timeline without actually making a dent. The fans have spoken—he’s just not the draw they thought he’d be.

But oh, "Celeborn has huge fans", does he? Sure—if by “huge fans” we mean a handful of lore purists clutching their leather-bound Silmarillions and setting up some kind of Tolkienquisition, ready to fanatically defend a character who, let’s face it, has the depth of a hobbit’s puddle. These are the same folks who’ll die on the hill of “canon” with their arms crossed, setting metaphorical pyres for anyone who dares ship Elrondriel—because god forbid Galadriel experience happiness that isn’t tied to her absentee husband.

You’ve got to laugh, really. I know I am laughing.

These so-called “huge fans” of Celeborn are like some solemn council of lore bro-clerics, ready to drag Galadriel back to the 2.5 minutes tops of screen time her “canonical” husband managed, and any deviation is apparently an assault on Tolkien’s holy word. They’re out here defending Celeborn like he’s Middle-earth’s MVP, despite the fact that he’s spent the entire story MIA while Elrond’s over here, actually doing things, actually supporting Galadriel, and… heaven forbid… actually making her happy.

So yes, if these “fans” want to keep lighting their lore-soaked torches and setting up barricades against anyone who dares explore a new side to Galadriel’s character, let them. We’ll just be over here enjoying the chemistry, depth, and actual presence of Elrond, all while wondering why their “huge fandom” can’t seem to muster up more than a half-hearted golf clap whenever Celeborn’s name gets mentioned.

Ah and, speaking of canon, here’s a little fun fact for the lore-keepers and Tolkien clerics out there: in the good professor’s original drafts, Tolkien himself toyed with the idea of Galadriel and Elrond getting hitched. Yep, you heard that right! So if they’re going to go on about the sanctity of canon, maybe they should actually crack open the books—or better yet, the History of Middle-earth volumes. Turns out their beloved “lore” almost looked very different, funny isn't it?

[dungeonsandblorbos]

Campaign/Character Intro: Curse of Strahd homebrew, feat. Cerris Dalca

Status: Indefinite hiatus :( System: DnD5e

About: This was my lovely husband @somethingclevermahogony's first go at DMing, so we started with the official 5e Curse of Strahd campaign book . . . and then it turned out that the official content was far too shallow for our worldbuilding-loving crew, so I'm pretty sure a good 80% of this campaign is homebrew by now. We've stuck to the basic plot and history, I think, but added a lot to flesh it all out and really ramped up the gothic horror. Also the body horror. This campaign is also largely the reason that I started getting into whump, so, ya know, . . . make of that what you will. It's currently on indefinite hiatus, as we moved to another country after session 36 and trying to schedule remote games has been rough. But! Hopefully we will be able to resume it soon, and I've also been toying around with writing up a whole narrative of the story so far because I have so much brain rot about it and really want to share the horrors and heartwarming moments with other people, because it's unfair that my party are the only ones so obsessed with this story and these characters.

Genres: Medieval fantasy, Gothic horror Rating: Explicit General content warnings: strong language, mature humor, drug and alcohol consumption, some sexual themes, some religious themes, fantasy violence, blood and gore, body horror, child endangerment, unintentional cannibalism, and oh my god so much more. Posts will be individually tagged with any relevant warnings, and I will hide particularly bad details under cuts. Tags: #curse of strahd homebrew, #cerris dalca, #meow meow milo, #dos holy boys, #cerris and milo, #cerris and ireena, #cos memes, narrative tag TK

story and character details under the cut

The Story

The once-prosperous valley nation of Barovia has been isolated in some forgotten pocket dimension for the past 400 years, its people so irrevocably trapped within its misty borders that not even death can provide an escape. The sun does not shine here. There are no songbirds, only crows and ravens and owls. And the dead do not like to stay dead. Even its ruler, Strahd von Zarovich, is unhappy with the state of things—and, well, who can blame him for being so restless? Little has changed over the course of his centuries-long reign. And he's as stuck there as his subjects . . . for now, anyway.

Lucky for him, the new band of adventurers he's lured to his country were naive enough that he easily manipulated them into helping his escape plans. The necessary rituals have been completed; all he has to do is wait.

Unlucky for him, those adventurers are a lot warier now that they've been tricked once, and a lot more motivated to actually make a stand against him. Even worse, they've already begun acting on that prophecy they got from his wretched half-sister, collecting all these random things that will supposedly enable them to permanently kill him. But they've lost a lot along the way, including 2/3s of their party, and they've made more enemies than allies. It will be an uphill battle, but righteous vengeance is a powerful motivator.

The Blorbos

I play Cerris Dalca (depicted above), a 23-year-old human tempest cleric, who is the primary reason I started this sideblog, actually. I just couldn't stop thinking about him and it was driving me mad. He's my comfort character. He's my bisexual disaster babygirl. He's my rotten soldier, my sweet cheese, my good bad time boy. He's the favored plaything of multiple god-tier beings and also me, so he's had a very rough time since arriving in the Shadowfell. He still has a lot to learn before he's ready to face Strahd, but I believe that one day, Cerris can save Barovia. Once upon a time, Cerris was a sheltered farmboy (and technically minor nobility) with great power thrust upon him without his consent, who was deeply disturbed by how much damage he could do in a fight. Nowadays, he's a hardened adventurer with severe depression and a nasty guilt complex that he copes with by turning it into righteous anger and constantly throwing himself in harm's way. He's compassionate, self-sacrificial, brutally determined, and a tactless, passive aggressive little brat. He's also a dad now. Yeah, he killed a monster and then it turned out the monster was a halfling child so he brought him back to life and adopted him. He's so very tired because his child is a kleptomaniacal menace but he loves him dearly and would do anything for him, including fight a whole family of Eldritch gods.

Our original party consisted of him; Valessha, an androgynous moon elf knowledge cleric and the smartest of the bunch (an unfortunately low bar); and Shalden Broadfist, a purple half-orc paladin with a bad case of worm brain. And then Valessha got kidnapped by the Bagman. And Shalden's worm brain turned out to be literal, as in, there was literally a modified mind flayer tadpole in his brain that's now been activated by [SPOILER] to turn him into a loyal puppet. There might be a way to save him, and Shalden's old mentor, Shüval Grindurst, a deep gnome barbarian, is determined to find it.

We also have all of your favorite standard Curse of Strahd NPCs, including the dread king Strahd von Zarovich, Mr. Tall Suave and Evil himself, and Ireena Kolyana, the fiery but sheltered young noblewoman he's obsessed with, not really in a romantic way but definitely in a creepy way. She and Cerris had a really cute little mutual crush thing going on until, uh, that ritual Strahd tricked the party into helping him complete that . . . well, it's a bit too complicated to say concisely but the point is that Ireena is now Strahd's prisoner and it's partially Cerris's fault. But Strahd does really enjoy taunting Cerris about her, and it seems that she's not only safe but also still likes him. So that's a plus, at least.

And of course we have a full roster of original NPCs as well! Including Cerris's monster child, Milo, the Bagman; beardless dwarf detective and retired adventurer, Achille Paydirt, who talks like Hercule Poirot; the capitalist hag Mother, who is easily one of the most hateable villains to ever exist; and Daddy Eldritch, a horrible eldritch monstrosity who masquerades as a charming southern gentleman without a face and lives on a farm that exclusively grows miles and miles of very cursed corn. And so much more! If I tried to list all the delightful friends and awful enemies we've made along the way, we'd be here all day. But you'll get to meet them all eventually, I'm sure.

[voidwhump]

yea what i was talking about to whither-wander-whump was Dragonlance, like you guessed. Dragonlance Legends specifically (so, in case you're not sure which one that was, the premise is basically that the mage Raistlin wants to become a god, his twin brother Caramon needs to do a bunch of character development and stop being emotionally dependent on Raistlin, and the cleric Crysania wants to redeem Raistlin and Raistlin uses that to manipulate her to help himself). I've just been having brainrot abt it, like Dragonlance isn't even really a main fandom for me - honestly I haven't even really looked into what sort of a fandom exists for it, i've just been. you know. having brainrot abt it and suffering silently on my own, lmao. (I haven't even read that much of the franchise, and I'm further hindered by the fact that my local library mostly only has translated copies which I refuse to touch because the one time I read one of the books translated, the translation quality was awful. So anyway for now all I've read is Chronicles, Legends, and the first book of Destinies.)

Anyway for some reason my brain has decided it's fun to poke at Caramon a little bit (literally this wasn't a choice my brain just went okay we're rotating him now, without asking my opinion, you know how it is sometimes) and i've been toying with some "okay no way in hell he's actually just fine at the end of the story, he's gotta be traumatized as fuck after all that, what if I make him break down a lil bit over everything and then throw in some comfort" kinda thing. Y'know, a good old-fashioned aftermath angst / hurt/comfort fic. And I just feel like a few extra scars and an injury that didn't really heal properly or some lil things like that could be fun to add into the mix. anyway yea idk i'll probably never actually write it anyway cuz my brain is stupid

(also i ended up even reading the books in literally the stupidest weirdest most roundabout "how the fuck did you even manage that" way, it's ridiculous, but that's beside the point)

Cool! Like I said, dragonlance has never been my main focus, but I definitely read at least the first book of chronicles and I remember Raistlin but not his twin for some reason. It might be because I read it somewhere between 8 and 11 years ago lmao.

If you do actually get words on paper, the two routes I primarily see in fanfic in D&D universes to keep cannon injuries around are 1. removing magical healing that happened in cannon or 2. making a unique injury harder to heal/fully recover from than was established in cannon. For injuries invented for the fanfic writers just exclude clerics and include limited healing potions it seems.

I just now thought of a secret third option that could be a vibe: phantom pain from an injury that was healed but for whatever reason that character's brain didn't catch on. Maintains cannon injury -> magical healing status but fits nicely with emotional stress.

Anyway fucking mood on not being able to find copies of these older series, I've been trying to hook myself up with legend of drizzt ebooks for a while but Hoopla straight up removed the prequel trilogy at some point and libby's options from my branch are sporadic at best and always checked out. If I'm buying books I want physical copies and I do NOT have the space for that lol. Or the funds really.

[bit-of-a-nerd]

thought on Will byers

he’s just a kid and has been through so much. he’s never truly gotten a moment of peace and yet he’s still so kind. he’s such a good and selfless person who spreads so much love even when he gets nothing in return. he loves to draw and has started painting and he loves it. he’s a cleric. he cosplays. he loves halloween. he loves scary movies (even when they give him nightmares). he’s a nerd. he’s shy until you get to know him. his favorite songs are should i stay or should i go and boys don’t cry. he’s in love with his best friend. he loves selflessly. even when he doesn’t have many toy’s at home he gave one away to a girl who was crying. he doesn’t think he’ll get a great love story but he will. he’s going to have so much happiness in his life even if he doesn’t know it yet.